'Well, that's something to give thanks for.' If it veered now they would have to beat further away from the hidden islands. Without searoom they might still be caught off guard when the enemy made a dash for it. But if the wind got up or shifted they would be seen the moment the sun rose, and the way would be open either for Lequiller to escape or give battle on his own, overwhelming terms.
He slammed down the cup. I f… when… He was beginning to think like the commodore.
Allday helped him into his coat. 'Will I call the commodore, Captain?'
'No.' He walked out of the chartroom and almost tumbled over the cabin servant who was curled up and asleep in the passageway.
He. said, 'Leave the rest of the coffee with him.' He glanced at the sealed door of the stem cabin, the marine sentry swaying in the lantern light like a toy soldier. 'He can give it to the commodore in a moment.' He's not even asleep, he thought. Probably lying there staring at the deckhead, listening to every sound.
The quarterdeck was in total darkness, and the sudden noise of wind and sea told him instantly of the increasing force behind them.
Inch groped towards him. 'We'll have to shorten sail again, sir.'
Bolitho walked up the tilting deck and cupped his hand over the compass bowl. South by west. He could picture the desperate, struggling course they had taken since leaving St. Kruis. Up and round in a great circle, mostly into the teeth of the wind, with all hands on deck for much of the time. Now they were sailing south again, on what was to have been the easiest part. The islands were somewhere across the starboard bow, and with the wind pushing down on the opposite quarter they would have all the advantage if an enemy came out of shelter. It would spoil everything now if they overreached their proper station.
'Very well, Mr. Inch. Take in another reef.'
He wondered if the Spartan was near those treacherous approaches yet. Whether his brother could remember so I long back… he broke off as Inch said, 'Hermes is still on station, sir. We saw her close astern at six bells.' He was yelling above the wind, his face shining with spray in the dim compass light.
'And the Telamon?'
'No sign, sir.' Inch broke off to yell at some men nearby who had not heeded or heard the demanding call of the bosun's pipe.
Overhead the sails cracked and thundered remorselessly as the hands fought to contain them in pitch darkness. Bolitho could well imagine the terror of being up there. Yet it was excellent sailing weather. If only they could free themselves from these wretched islands. Sail and fight had been intended, instead of taking the power out of the old ship's sails when she had such strength to offer.
Inch shouted, 'How do you think Mr. Selby is managing, sir`s'
It was an innocent question and he was obviously trying to make amends for what he still imagined was his own lapse whilst waiting for the barge.
'Well enough.'
Inch nodded vaguely. 'He has a way with him. Like Captain Farquhar, I thought him familiar at first.'
Bolitho stiffened. Inch couldn't possibly have remembered him also. In St. Clar his brother had passed Inch in the darkness before the final evacuation, had handed him a ring, his mother's ring, to give to him as an only sign of recognition, and to say that he was not dead after all.
Inch said, 'It must be something about the man, sir.' He showed his teeth in an uncertain grin. 'Young Mr. Pascoe's quite taken with him and seemed quite worried when he left the ship. Strange how these things happen.'
Stranger than you know. Aloud he replied, 'Now, if you have quite finished, Mr. Inch, perhaps you would be good enough to rouse the commodore and inform him of the weather. If the wind mounts further we will wear ship and gain more searoom.'
Inch paused as Bolitho added coldly, 'Just tell the commodore the barest details, if you please. I am sure he will be in no mood for light conversation at this time of morning.'
He saw a shadow move by the lee rail and called, 'Mr. Gascoigne! How do you enjoy your first watch as acting lieutenant?'
Gascoigne staggered up the slanting deck, paused and then almost fell as the ship wallowed sickeningly into a steep trough.
'Quite well, sir.' He swallowed hard and added lamely, 'Although only when Mr. Inch is on deck too, sir. Once when I was left alone I had a great dread that the ship was carrying me and every soul aboard into something solid yet invisible.' He shuddered. 'All this fabric and spars, the men below and the great weight of guns, yet I could find no word, even had there been danger.'
'That is naturaL' Bolitho gripped the rail, feeling it wet and cold under his hand. 'Once you are over that sensation you start to learn how to master the ship yourself, without waiting for others to say and do things for you. You get the feel of her. You discover her moods, good or bad, and learn to give her her head when the moment offers itself.'
Gascoigne grinned. 'I never thought of it like that.' He walked away as Inch reappeared.
'Well?'
Inch replied, 'I told him, sir.'
There was something else. He asked more gently, 'Was he asleep?'
'No, sir.' He sounded puzzled. 'He is just sitting there on the bench seat, the most uncomfortable place in a quarter sea in my opinion. He is fully dressed, sir. Just sitting there.' His voice trailed away.
Bolitho clapped him on the shoulder. 'The privilege of rank, my lad!' Then he strode to the weather side before inch could see his expression.
So it was worse than he had thought. Pelham Martin was unable to lie down let alone sleep. Figures ran across the main deck and once he heard a man laugh, the sound strangely sad in the chorus of wind and straining rigging. He wanted to pace to quieten his troubled mind, but knew the motion was too savage for that. Here, on this very. quarterdeck, two admirals had died within feet of him. One had been brave but stupid, while the other had died uncomplaining of his wound. He had been as courageous as he had been misguided, but never at any time had he faltered from what he thought to be his set duty. And before them perhaps other flag officers had fallen here. The lucky ones to be buried at sea or carried home to weeping relatives in casks of spirits to be laid to rest in some family vault. The unlucky had lingered on to die at a surgeon's hands.
He banged his fist on the rail, his eyes staring into the leaping patterns of spray. But none so far had died of fear, yet that was the greatest threat in any battle.
He was still by the rail when two hours later the first grey tentacles of light showed above the horizon far abeam and played across the faces of the men around him.
Allday appeared with a fresh jug. 'Coffee, Captain?' He held out the cup, his stocky body swaying at an angle with the deck.
Bolitho sipped it slowly, feeling its rich heat burning into his stomach.
To Gascoigne he said, 'See that all our people get a hot drink before they douse the galley fires.' To Inch he added, 'We shall go to quarters in half an hour. It will help wake them up and drive the weariness from their bones.'
'Deck there! Land on th' lee bow!'
He threw the cup to Aliday. 'Aloft with you, Mr. Canyon! Report what you see, and lively with it!'
Gossett ambled across the deck, his hands deep in the pockets of his misshapen watchcoat. 'A fair landfall, sir.'
He sounded vaguely satisfied. ''Bout five mile distant, I would think.'
Canyon slithered down a backstay and blurted, 'Islands, sir. Sou'west of us!'
He realised that Bolitho had remained silent and added, 'All overlapping, but there's a great hill on the nearest one.' He rubbed his nose and added doubtfully, 'Like a slab of cheese, sir.'
Gossett whispered, 'Gawd Almighty!'
Bolitho smiled grimly. 'Never mind, Mr. Gossett. That was as close a description as fits the chart. A slab of cheese suits it exactly.'
He saw Inch stiffen and turned to see the commodore's bulky figure emerging beneath the poop ladder.
He touched his hat. 'We have sighted the islands, sir. I am about to send the hands to quarters.' He paused, seeing the deep shadows around Pelham-Martin's eyes. 'Have you had some coffee, sir?'
